


White Council, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: 3rd Age - The Stewards, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:41:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gandalf has discovered the true identity of The Necromancer, and the Wise meet in Caras Galadhon to discuss the threat of Dol Guldur. However, there are some who are willing to overlook the menace...</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Council, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Lothlórien, Caras Galadhon. Midsummer day, 2851.**

Celeborn watched as the caravans entered the city lazily. For the first time since its formations, almost four hundred years ago, the White Council would meet to discuss Dol Guldur’s Master, known as the Necromant. Just the previous year Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, had gone into Dol Guldur and found out that the Necromant was none other than Sauron himself.

The Lord of Lothlórien, once known as the Ear of Thingol, Celeborn the Wise, shook his head slightly in sorrow. They all knew Sauron had not been definitely defeated, but yet, the years of peace always felt too short.

Dol Guldur had been built in the first millennia of the Third Age, and The Wise –the istari and the great among the Eldar – had at first thought it was one of the Nazgûl. Dark creatures had multiplied in the dark places of the world since then, and restlessness slowly settled in Middle-earth. The shadow had grown again.

The first members of the Council were already climbing the mallorn stairs. With his keen elven eyesight, Celeborn could distinguish Curunir, Mithrandir and Laeghen talking in whispers as Haldir the March warden lead them upwards. Lord Elrond Half-elven came with his twin sons; Cirdan from the Grey Havens stood calmly taking in the beauty of Caras Galadhon, and Lord Thranduil king of Mirkwood in deep conversation with Herolin his counsellor. It had been long since Celeborn had seen any of his sindarin kind, in Lórien or anywhere else, even thought they were now so mingled with the sylvan people that the son of Oropher considered himself a woodland elf rather than sindarin. Since the First War of the Ring’s disaster, where Oropher had led his people before the signal and many of them died, Mirkwood had kept to themselves. It was almost as if they blamed the rest of Middle earth for the calamity.

Celeborn retreated to his chambers, looking for his dearest Galadriel, the Lady of Light. After all those years, his lady still surprised him. Like now, she was not there to receive the guests with him.

And Galadriel _always_ knew when there were guests arriving.

There was only one possible answer, really. She was looking into her Mirror and lost track of time. Leaving orders to Annuilion, their butler and household manager, to accommodate the guests in their designed rooms, the Lord of Lothlórien set out to meet his wife at the Enchanted Pool.

..::(~'*'~)::..

The Mirror had a mind of its own.

The wise and powerful could bend it to their will, but even so, the most revealing – and often astonishing – predictions always came when one let the Mirror do its work.

The Lady of Light had been called many names in her long life – Artanis, Alatáriel, Nerwen, and the name by which she was known now, Galadriel. Radiant garland, it meant. She had always have a strong mind and the ability to decipher people’s heart, besides the wisdom of many thousands of years and the inner light of one who once saw the Trees and lived in the blessed lands of Eldamar.

She now stood before the Mirror, watching in apparent idleness as it showed her many images in quick succession. She saw Celebrimbor as he revealed Sauron’s betrayal to his fellow smiths in Eregion, saw the falling of Doriath and Lúthien’s death, saw Mithrandir sneaking into Dol Guldur to seek for the dwarf who held the last of the Seven rings –only to find the ring had been taken, to receive the key to Erebor from a dying Thráin -, saw a day with no dawn and the world of men falling under the reckless assault of Sauron’s forces.

Galadriel saw many of the possible outcomes of Middle earth’s impending crisis. What would come to pass should Sauron be victorious, and what would be should the Light defeat the Shadow.

“Galadriel?” Her husband Celeborn seldom went into the pool when she was looking into the Mirror, and he did not interrupt her unless there was an extreme reason for it. His soft voice invaded her senses and the Mirror became blank once again.

“Yes, my lord Celeborn?” she asked softly, turning to see him as she got further form the vessel. From all the people in Middle-earth, Celeborn was the one who could claim to know Galadriel – and even he could not read her sometimes. The mere shadow of a frown signalled he had noticed her disturbed state of mind, but he did not question her yet, there would be time for that later.

“The hour grows late, my dear. We shall dine with the council before we proceed with the debates tomorrow,” her husband said extending a slender hand to her, and they walked back to their flet in companionable ease. She did not need excuses with him – or to any living soul in Middle-earth, to be precise. But yet it was a good thing to be loved and accepted by someone so completely that he knew when you needed space. Celeborn knew she had a serious reason not to be in their flet as the members arrived, and he also knew that she would come to him and talk about it when she felt ready – in the privacy of their chambers, without all the galadrin overhearing.

..::(~'*'~)::..

“We _must_ attack Dol Guldur before the dark lord has time to prepare his army.” Mithrandir stated quite determinedly, finishing his report of his discoveries in Dol Guldur and dwarf-lord Thráin.

Sauron was looking for the Ring.

The White Council was assembled to discuss the threat of Dol Guldur. Now that they knew without a doubt that the Necromant was indeed Sauron the Deceiver, things were more complicated. Dol Guldur had always been a threat, but a Nazgûl would be easier to deal with than the dark lord himself.

“We are not ready to face Sauron yet, Gandalf,” Curunir rose, his voice gentle but firm and unwavering. “A last Alliance of Elves and Men could not do it in all their glory, and we are now not yet recovered from the past mutiny. If we throw ourselves into his domain, we will achieve nothing but give him advantage. No, we must ready ourselves for this.”

Thranduil squirmed almost imperceptibly in his chair. The Eldar discussed the matter among themselves, evaluating the pros and cons of an open attack.

“Dol Guldur is perfectly located to threaten all of us,” said Elrond, the herald of Gil Galad in the Last Alliance and lord of Imladris. His twin sons were not allowed in, and were both wandering in the Golden woods as the gathering proceeded, “One step wrong and we will be exposed for Sauron to invade our houses and destroy our people.”

“You speak wisely, Lord Elrond.” Curunir conceded.

“And yet, we must not let Sauron idle to plan his assault on us. He has often proved what damage he can bring, and what malice he can use. Even the wise of Eregion have fallen under his spell,” Celeborn declared. He had also fought in the Last Alliance, and before that he had joined Thingol’s efforts to protect the lands surrounding The Girdle of Melian and Galadriel brother’s realm. Whilst Celeborn would always be a man of lore and kind manners much more than a warden and felt no joy in warcraft, he was not unbloodied nor a coward by any means.

“We will not leave him idle, milord, nor have I ever said that.” Curunir defended himself, seeing that the situation was about to lose control. “But we are all people of responsibility, and many lives depend on our counsel. With threat living so near our homes, should we not tread carefully? No, I say not that we stay still, waiting for the snake to bite; ere I say that we prepare ourselves for the confrontation. Lord Celeborn said himself, and you all ere heard of how cunning and dangerous Sauron is. Let us gather some more intelligence, and make ready our forces, who are still deprived from much violent and constant mutiny already.”

“Don’t you say aught, Galadriel Lady of Light?” Celeborn asked his wife quietly. Galadriel merely shook her head softly, immersed in meditation. The images kept swirling in her head. Deep within, she knew it was meant to be.

“Curunir’s advice is sound,” Cirdan spoke quietly but loud enough for all to hear, “ as is Mithrandir’s. They both are correct in their assessment of the situation. And we have lost too many of our kindred in the Alliance, for elves do not multiply like men or dwarves, and many have left these shores. Or numbers diminish. If we are to enter in another struggle with Sauron, we shall enter, but past experience has shown we must be careful with him. “

“So be it,” Elrond agreed. “Let us try and pry something about the Dark Lord’s plan, and make ourselves ready, for the fight shall be long and hard with such a cunning and malicious opponent.”

Thranduil squirmed again in his seat, less imperceptibly this time. Only Herolin saw, and even him only by the volume in his lord’s pockets, that the King’s hands were balled into fists. The sylvan folk had always been distant from the noldor and sindar, finding them too proud and superior to their woodland counterparts, tauntingly questioning the woodland elves ruler’s right to call himself a king as if he was one of the High King of old when they called their leaders but Lord and Ladies, but since the massacre at the Dead Marshes caution had evolved to distance. And the actual meeting would not do much good for the diplomatic connections between the elven realms.

Not when the said realms were backing down from a preventive attack on Dol Guldur –and the evil place was closer to Mirkwood, that would undoubtedly be the first woodland realm attacked.

Valar knew what Thranduil might be feeling.

Galadriel directed her clear azure gaze upon the woodland king, not judging but understanding, and a very small part of his anger faded.

“If this is the will of the White Council,” Mithrandir conceded with a small bow to the present, “then I shall do my utmost to gather the necessary intelligence quickly. But I should stress the urgency and importance of being ready as soon as possible, Sauron must not be given time to make his move as he wants to.”

“The fight will be hard,” the Lady said, “and perilous. But not long. For good or for evil, when the time has come, it shall be over swifter than our previous confrontation.”

Elrond dropped his gaze to the ground, as Thranduil prepared to leave, for the meeting was very clearly over. Mirkwood had been left to stand alone.

“We will find friends in the most unlikely places, and foes in the most unexpected people. Take heart, my friends. The shadow has not yet won.”

“No, milady, it has not,” Thranduil bowed and spoke quietly, yet the lady could see the desperate fury behind his eyes.

_‘There is no use in discussing with those people,’_ he thought, _‘as the decision was made very swiftly, and their minds are set. Aye, get ready I shall, Curunir, for none of you will take your eyes off from your precious lands. Look at what happened when **we** were generous.’_

Elrond almost made for him, but one silent command of the Lady stilled him. _‘let him be, son of Eärendil. Fate has a very tortuous way of working. He will come back for us in the determined time.’_

‘I should hope so, Lady Galadriel. I should hope so. But I will submit to your wisdom, as it has not yet failed.’

Mirkwood ceased all exchange with the noldor realms, and from them on they kept to themselves.


End file.
